


my own vineyard i have not kept

by glitteration



Series: everybody knows i'm a mf'ing monster [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy Blake loves going down, Cunnilingus, F/M, Kellabby Rising, Mommy Kink, Multi, This is pretty extra, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8509915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteration/pseuds/glitteration
Summary: A doctor, a soldier, and an asshole walk into a bar.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [closer2fine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/closer2fine/gifts), [ChancellorGriffin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChancellorGriffin/gifts), [convenientmisfires](https://archiveofourown.org/users/convenientmisfires/gifts).



"—seriously, Murphy, if you get me written up I'm going to kick your ass."

"Well, that'll be new and different. You've never done that before."

Abby stills outside the door. Murphy's presence in medical has become nearly as ubiquitous as Jackson's or her own in short order; his voice is expected these days, a third note welding itself to an already established two-part harmony.

Bellamy's is a surprise. He's not avoiding her eyes like he had while Clarke was gone, but he's not seeking out her company either. She had _thought_ that extended to Murphy, but maybe not.

"Shut up."

"Give me the bottle back and maybe I will."

That explains it. Murphy may not be on duty, but that doesn't mean an overzealous member of the guard would overlook John Murphy of all people cracking open contraband in the middle of medical.

"Be less of a dick and I'll give you the bottle back." At least Bellamy seems to handle his particular charms better than Jackson does.

"Deal."

She can hear their voices, but not any movement; they'll be up against the far wall, then, where it would be easier to stash a bottle if someone came in without lingering by the door to eavesdrop.

"Fun as this is, let's throw in something actually interesting."

"Let's not."

"That guard on third shift, the one with the great ass?"

"I'm not doing this."

"Would you fuck her?"

" _Jesus_ , Murphy."

"Well?"

"I don't know. Maybe? I barely know her."

"Well, you're completely terrible at this game. You don't have to _know_ her to tell me if you'd fuck her."

"Fine. Sure, I guess." He snorts, and Abby's own mouth twitches into an approving smile at his follow-up. "But you know if she heard us talking like this, she wouldn't fuck either of us, right?"

"Terrible at this game."

"And I'm real torn up about it, too."

There's a pause, then Murphy's voice floats out towards her again and Abby braces her herself for disaster as soon as the first syllable is out. Growing used to Murphy's presence has meant rapid exposure to his tendency towards trying to rattle everyone around him, Jackson in particular.

"Fine. You want somebody you know?"

"Not really."

Murphy ignores the objection. "Abby. Would you fuck Abby?"

This is the point to leave if ever there was one. She _should_ have left long ago, to give them privacy and herself plausible deniability. There is absolutely no excuse she can make, not even to herself, for staying to hear the answer.

"You're disgusting, you know that?"

"Don't get all self-righteous on me now, you're the one who brought booze to the party. I'll even go first: I'd fuck her."

"You _work_ for her."

"Like that's a problem?"

"What about Emori?"

"She'd fuck her, too."

"...she _told_ you that?"

"Who do you think I usually do this with? If she wasn't off on whatever bullshit sidequest Kane told her not to tell me about, I wouldn't be wasting my time trying to get you to take the stick out of your ass and answer a simple question. No offense."

"None taken."

"You still haven't answered. So I'll take it as a yes."

"You do whatever you feel you need to, Murphy."

"'You do whatever you feel you need to, Murphy'." He drawls the words back to Bellamy, exaggerating the growl of irritation edging his words. "Still not hearing a 'no, Murphy, I don't think she's hot'."

"Will you drop it? Why is this important to you?"

"Because it pisses you off."

"You really want to do this right now?"

The irritation in Bellamy's voicing is deepening to something that means if she lets Murphy keep digging his own grave she really will need to worry about the guard's involvement, and she raps sharply on the doorframe. "Murphy. Bellamy."

Bellamy's eyes widen and then immediately slide away from her own, guilt obvious. Murphy just raises the bottle in a cheerful salute.

"Abby. Out for a walk, decided to stop by the workplace?"

She should firmly set them both down. Even if the conversation she overheard weren't the kind she could dismiss Murphy over, they're absolutely not supposed to have the unlabeled bottle currently suspended mid-air in Murphy's white-knuckled grip.

There are nerves on his face, hidden behind the flush of alcohol and defiance. He's _worried_ , and not that she'll report him to the guard. He's worried she'll tell him medical no longer requires his services and set him adrift again. It's that more than anything else that makes her decide to give them the comforting lie and not the embarrassing truth.

"Give me that." Holding out her hand, Abby waits patiently as the boys trade looks before Murphy hauls himself up and brings her the bottle. The mouthful she takes burns going down but she forces herself to breathe through it and keep swallowing, until the burn is a dull ache. "So, how often do you use my medbay to drink?" Letting them off the hook for discussing what they had been doesn't mean she's not going to take the chance to try and scare a little sense into them.

"Hey, don't look at me. Golden boy here brought it in here when I was minding my own business. I was doing inventory."

Bellamy's face twists at 'golden boy', but he gives her a short nod of confirmation, shoulders pulling back into parade rest like he's waiting for an inevitable dressing down.

"Little hint? Next time, close the door."

Bellamy blinks, but Murphy hoots with triumph. "I told you she wouldn't care."

"I'll _have_ to care if you get caught." Abby points out dryly. "Any disciplinary matter that involves my staff involves me, too."

Murphy nonplussed is only a shade away from normal, but she's had a few weeks to study him in intimate detail. The little dip to his shoulders and the surprised light in his eyes before he quickly looks away and makes an exaggerated show of saluting means she's managed to trip over the reason he showed up one afternoon with a flimsy excuse and left with a job.

"Hey, well. Wouldn't want to be a drain on your time."

She salutes him back, this time with the bottle. "I'll drink to that."

Like she absolutely should have turned and walked away when they started their little game, this is the time to leave. Hand them back whatever rotgut she has to pretend she doesn't know Monty never stopped making, tell them to be more careful, and spend another night wondering if this is the night Marcus ends his self-imposed exile and when it's inevitably not, go to sleep alone.

"So, what were you two doing before I got here?"

Bellamy's flush starts at the base of his neck and moves up in a wave, until even the tips of his ears are red. Murphy just gives her a look, and she shoves the bottle back his way before he can puzzle out why she's asking.

"Playing a game." Bellamy makes a low, miserable sound, and Murphy grins. "You want to play, Abby?"

It's only with the foresight provided by knowing exactly what Murphy might do with an opening he can leverage to torment Bellamy that she controls her instinctive flinch at the question and shrugs, demurring. "I shouldn't."

"Oh, come on." He takes a swig and shakes the rest in offer, liquor sloshing against the sides invitingly. "Unless Raven figures out how to stop time, we're all going to die in a couple months anyway. Have fun while still you can, right?"

Half an hour later, there's only a few swigs left, and the room has taken on a pleasant shine as the liquor sets in and loosens the desperate tension suffusing her joints. It's been _years_ since she indulged like this, Abby realizes with a jolt. Maybe a full decade. Even if the circumstances aren't exactly professional (let alone _wise_ ) it feels too good to relax for even just an evening to worry about it now.

Murphy's taunt to continue the game hasn't materialized but across the loose circle they've formed on the floor, his eyes are sly. "Told you, Bellamy. Abby's not bad for somebody who used to be chancellor."

If it's meant to needle her, Murphy's mention of the pin only makes Abby shake her head and push the bottle towards him again. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Ignoring her implicit offer, he sucks in his cheeks and studies her, taking in everything from her flushed cheeks to her mussed hair to her indolent sprawl. "So, how much did you actually hear when you were standing out there?"

Bellamy groans, burying his face in his hands. "For Chrissakes, Murphy."

Murphy's looking to set her off balance, she can tell, and Abby raises a cool eyebrow. "Do you really want to know?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

"Enough to know that I should be warning Ko on third shift to keep an eye on you two."

Murphy's gaze sharpens. "So you were listening for a while, huh?" He casts a thoughtful look at Bellamy and then smirks. "Hear something you liked?"

Abby feels for a moment as though the ground has shifted beneath her feet. Murphy's insinuation is a gauntlet she can either ignore or throw back his way, and either has its own set of difficulties. Shifting a little, she tries to thread the needle between both. "I was trying to decide if I should keep walking or tell you two to keep it down before someone else found you."

"And you didn't step in earlier? I get it, I wanted to hear his answer, too." Bellamy aims a kick his way, and Murphy rolls to the side to avoid it. "Hey, fuck off, I did. But now I'm thinking one of us hasn't even gotten a chance to avoid the question."

"Murphy, don't."

Ignoring Bellamy, Murphy raises one eyebrow. "So, would you fuck him? Or me, no need to start with Bellamy."

Like the first two times she'd been given the choice, the one she should make is obvious; then she pictures it. Murphy, lean and pale and stretched out beneath her, Bellamy a golden shadow close at her back. Taking solace in the kind of mindlessness sex can bring, in the comfort of being wanted and wanting in return.

"Yes." Just that one word and the air in the room thickens. Even Murphy is silent under its potential.

Clearly his throat, he tries to rally, but the fragile sarcasm is underlaid by something infinitely more real. "Me or him?"

Endearing is not a word she would ever have thought to apply to Murphy, but his sloppy show of nonchalance and the way he hangs on the breath she takes before answering bring it fleetingly to mind.

"You."

Bellamy makes a small, broken sound, clumsily pushing up to his knees. "I should—"

" _And_ Bellamy."

"Oh." He slumps back down, throat bobbing as he swallows. "I would. Too. If you wanted," he blurts out before lapsing back into stunned silence.

"That's what she just _said_ she wanted." Murphy's bite is back, but when his eyes land on her they're impressed, like she's passed the same kind of test she had when she'd opened Ontari's chest and taken hold of her heart. "Just hypothetically?"

"Murphy." What she should do is long forgotten. "Come here."

Even on his knees, Murphy manages to slouch, but he's inches away with gratifying speed. "Yeah?"

She crooks her finger at him and he sways closer, eyes fixed on her mouth. He's not a tentative kisser, even if his hands stay hanging loosely by his sides. Jake had liked to spend hours in bed, making out like teenagers, and the way Murphy's lips move over her own are a bittersweet echo of that time.

Touching her swollen lips with two fingers, Abby savors the gentle heat of stubble-scratched skin. "You're good at that."

He preens, shamelessly. "Yeah, well. Emori likes to kiss." The mention is nonchalant, but it makes her frown. Murphy's honorable, in his own particular fashion, and how much he cares for Emori has been clear from the moment ALIE's control ended. Noticing her sudden doubt, he wrinkles his nose, somewhere between impatient and annoyed on principle. "She's fine with it. I wasn't lying when I told Bellamy she would, too." It's her turn to preen a little, and Murphy's lips quirk. "She'll be pissed off she missed it, probably."

Making a choked sound, Bellamy wipes a hand over his face, like the concept pains him.

"Doing better than you, thanks." Murphy waves a hand, measuring the distance between Bellamy and Abby. "At least I'm not staring in the corner."

"Shut up, Murphy." Bellamy's grip is firm when he pulls her away from Murphy and loops an arm around her waist, pulling her in until the tips of their boots kiss. Then he slows, lips pressed together against a question he desperately wants to ask.

"What is it?" Stroking back the hair in his eyes, Abby tries to read them. "After everything else, I think you can tell me what's wrong."

"Kane." Bellamy's lashes are long against his cheeks when he looks down, face twisting with guilt. "I just thought you two were..."

"You're terrible at this, too. When's the last time you saw Kane hanging around medical?"

Murphy's interjection saves her from providing the answer herself, but Abby flinches away from the words. Understanding Marcus' need for time to recenter himself doesn't make it any less a rejection, and if Murphy's been paying attention to Kane's visiting hours he's paying enough attention to notice her response to their lack. Bellamy notices, and his tentative hold on her back shifts smoothly into rubbing comforting circles with a speed that says it's an instinctive response.

"He's right. Blunt, but right." As much as it pains her that Marcus is willing to spend a single moment of the little time they have left apart, it doesn't mean it isn't a reality she's had to face and internalize. "But it doesn't matter what he'd think. It matters what you want, and what I want." Murphy coughs, ostentatiously, and she can't smiling. "And what Murphy wants."

"What do you want?"

"Right now? I want you to kiss me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and then they fuck.

His eyes search hers, searching for any sign she's been swayed by alcohol or Murphy, that she wouldn't allow him near her if not for those mitigating factors. Whatever he finds must comfort him, because he leans in tentatively and presses his lips to her own, gaining confidence when she parts them to allow his tongue entry.

"See, that's better. You should listen to me mo—"

"Murphy?" Bellamy whines low in his throat in protest when she turns her head, and Abby gentles him, rubbing a hand down his side. "Go close the door and lock it?"

Bellamy reclaims her mouth once the words are out, the pressure behind his kiss bruising, like he's afraid once he stops she'll slip out of his grip. Hand coming up to toy with the curls at the back of his neck, Abby sees him through it, strokes him gently and softens her own lips and slowly, he follows suit. 

There's a faint rustle of cloth and then Murphy's hand rests on her hip, fingertips just a hairsbreadth shy of Bellamy's own.

"Done. Do I get a thank you?"

Bellamy pants quietly into her ear as Murphy takes his place, teeth tugging at her lower lip. Release from ALIE meant a return of not just sanity, but sensation, and none of it good. It feels like Marcus' kiss took place so long ago there's nothing left to draw on but a suggestion of what it felt like. Every part of her longs for a way to have that again, and finally feeling hands on her skin again, hands that want nothing from her but what she chooses to give is enough to push away that they aren't his. 

Tugging away from both of them, Abby pulls her shirt over her head, setting it on the counter. Bellamy and Murphy's eyes track the movement with gratifying intensity, and when she adds her bra to the pile before going to work on her pants Bellamy groans.

"You always know what to say." Murphy's voice sounds strained, the sarcasm falling flat. Abby basks in it, kicking away her boots and bringing her underwear down with her pants in one economic motion and standing naked under the subtle glow of medical's nighttime lighting. "Okay, so we're really doing this." 

He pulls his own shirt off and tosses it aside, not bothering to pay attention to where it lands. Lean and scarred, he brings to mind one of the abandoned hounds that roamed the outskirts of Polis as they'd made their painful, bloody way back to Arkadia; weeks of inattention and attack leaning muscle and creating a tapestry of his time on the ground. 

"Bellamy?" He stands motionless, and Abby takes a step towards him. "If you're not comfortable..."

"No! No." Bellamy shakes his head rapidly, hair bouncing with the force of his vehement protest. "I want to." He nearly strangles himself getting his shirt off, and Murphy's laugh earns him that shirt in the face once Bellamy is free.

While they jostle, Abby hitches one hip up on the exam table and takes them both in, the contrast and similarities equally striking; that Bellamy is solid and golden where Murphy is pale as the bellies of the fish Nyko has taken to bringing in and offering her, but his body bears the marks of war just the same. At the thought Abby's knee twinges in sympathy, a reminder of her own scars.

If ever they were whole, all of Arkadia is broken now. By ALIE, by what they've lost, by what they've done and the weight of circumstance; but the lights in medical are dim, the walls holding the last of the day's warmth in and for the moment, there's some peace to be found.

"Can I..." Bellamy licks his lips, eyes pinned above her collarbones with desperate fixation, like he's reminding himself not to take what isn't offered. 

When he doesn't finish the request she crooks her finger in invitation and he obeys, taking halting steps forward, red creeping up the back of his neck. He darts a quick look at Murphy before dropping to his knees in front of her, chin up, exposing the long line of his throat. One hand resting chastely on her thigh, eyes on hers, reading her reaction before sliding it an inch higher. His nerves haven't disappeared, but heat is slowly licking at the edges and beginning to consume the lingering doubt. "Please."

The first touch of his tongue is tentative, and her hips buck forward in instinctive need for _more_ before Murphy's hands circle around her hips and pull them back to the table, his bare chest hot against her back. "I got her."

Bellamy's next touch tests that theory, but Murphy's grip just tightens and a little switch clicks over inside. She's in control, but she doesn't have to be for now; doesn't have to worry about a resurgence of respiratory problems or how to restock the infirmary, just to let herself feel again.

When Bellamy flattens his tongue and presses it hard against her clit her choked-off cry bounces off each surface in medical, and Murphy's groan echoes it, his cock sliding along her lower back as he uses her struggles to push closer to Bellamy to bring her hips back into alignment with his own. "All right, so _now_ I got her."

Bellamy chuckles, the vibrations making her inhale sharply. He's not artful, but it's been so long and he's so obviously enthusiastic her blood surges, thigh muscles straining as she tries to open her thighs wider for him. Moaning appreciatively into her cunt, Bellamy works patiently to take her apart, instincts to please overwhelming any lack of practice as her responses guide him to what works best.

Murphy's talking again, a low wordless buzz under the roar of her pulse and how _close_ she is. Then Bellamy lifts his head and looks up at her and Abby whines at the loss, desperately trying to snap her hips up and follow him.

" _Bellamy_!" Murphy's hands tighten, and Abby growls in frustration. "Bellamy... Bellamy, please, I was so close. I need to come." 

"Not yet." He rests his cheek on her thigh, breathing in deeply. "Soon, I promise."

He pats her knee, strokes it like she might have done for Clarke as a child and the room feels like it tilts sideways and they follow along with it, arriving in some entirely new configuration without having meant to leave the old one. " _Please_." 

His answer is to spread her carefully open with scarred fingers and try his best to bring her immediately back to the brink and then back off again, and again, until there's nothing left but the immediate, and nothing to feel but pleasure. When he finally takes pity on her, she's a shivering wreck, sweat beading her brow and making her chest shine. Slumped back against Murphy, she pleads with Bellamy and then curses him in the next breath, every single cell in her body focused on plunging over the ledge he's mercilessly held her back from. 

Last demand fading away in a strangled gasp, Abby enjoys the first mindless moment she's had since ALIE; but the kind of mindlessness she can thrive on, not a dulled imitation meant to keep her that way.

The aftershocks haven't faded when Bellamy leans back in, nuzzling his cheek into her thigh and sighing happily, like he's the one she just systematically taken apart. "You're so wet." He rolls his face into her like a cat and Abby's stomach clenches with an arousal so strong it registers as pain, realizing why. 

" _Bellamy_." 

His face glistens when he looks up at her, covered in her from chin to temple, and even Murphy groans at the sight. " _Fuck_." 

His voice in her ear reminds her of the stiff length pressing insistently into her back, and Abby turns her head as best she can with his grip keeping her in place. "Let go, Murphy." His hands fly away like he's been burned in his eagerness. Sparing a moment to lean in and kiss Bellamy, she ignores the cold floor and edges off the table, turning to look at Murphy and take in how he looks with some of his defenses stripped away. "Lay down." 

"So, how are we going to do this?"

There's not enough room to bracket hips with her knees and keep them both from tipping over sideways, and she's not making him stretch out naked on the floor. With a thoughtful hum, Abby considers what they _can_ do. "Scoot down?" 

He seems to grasp her idea quickly, and rushes to comply, legs hanging over the edge of the table past mid-thigh. His feet dangle, absurdly vulnerable. A pliant Murphy is hard to reconcile with the young man spending so much of his time trying to drive Jackson to drink, but other than the smirk as her gaze travels from the flushed weight of his cock to the blue veins in his abdomen to the flush making his chest blotchy and red, that Murphy is conspicuously missing. 

Bellamy offers a hand without being asked, a ballast weight to keep her grounded as her body molds around Murphy, giving her more control to ease down slowly until he's as deep as the position allows. It's been so long the sensation of fullness makes her tense, relearning the art of two bodies coming together.

" _Fuck_ me." Murphy's head falls back with a loud thud, and Bellamy's soft chuckle echoes her own.

"Give me a second." This time Murphy laughs too, breathless and a little giddy. There's only limited room to lift her hips, but his reaction when she tries a cautious rise and fall to see what she can do without a hand braced on the table says that won't be a problem. Reaching back, she braces herself with a hand on Murphy's stomach, the other still held tight in Bellamy's. A few more tries makes it clear she's going to need that hand back and she tugs gently, trying to retrieve it. Bellamy fights at first, swaying in closer for a kiss before he relinquishes her hand and gives her time to find the outer edges of movement allowed before she sends them both to the floor. 

Once she's found it Bellamy cups a breast in one hand, testing the weight and stooping down to run his tongue over the tight bud of her nipple. Murphy huffs in surprise when her nails scratch his pale skin in instinctive response, but it's not a complaint. Each sensation is a log on an already roaring fire, and she strains towards Bellamy's mouth in a plea for more and he gives it before switching to the other side, drawing her nipple into his mouth and drawing on it in firm pulls. 

Pulling off with a wet pop, Bellamy's eyes are hazy with want and he sinks to his knees again, tucked in the vee of Murphy's legs this time. His intentions are immediately clear and Murphy's hands clench on the edge of the table, knuckles white as Abby's has to remind herself to breathe. 

Bellamy nuzzles into her inner thigh, little whuffing breaths tickling sensitive skin. When she clenches around Murphy in instinctive response, he bites off a curse and slaps a hand open palmed against the side of the bed, then again when Bellamy kisses that same patch of skin, eyes glued to the sight of Murphy's cock stretching her wide.

"Bellamy—" She almost loses her balance when his tongue hesitantly traces the skin stretched taut around Murphy, then again with more confidence when they both cry out, Murphy's voice cracking. When she casts a glance over her shoulder, he's propped himself up on his elbows, head craned so he can watch what's visible of Bellamy's head between her thighs with undisguised interest. "She likes that, when you do it— _Christ_. Yeah, like that."

Bellamy lifts his head just enough to make his voice clear. " _She_ likes it, huh?"

"Shut the fuck up and just do it again." Bellamy does, and Abby can feel the impact jolt her own body when Murphy lets his arms give out and falls back to the table. 

There's nothing she'd done with Jake to draw on here, and it takes a little practice to learn how to manage the rhythm of three bodies. Bellamy's singleminded focus makes it easier. He's either always been paying closer attention than she'd imagined or he's done this before, because he follows the careful roll of her hips with his mouth like he was born to it, broad palms helping hold Murphy's thighs down so his jittery attempts at thrusting up can't gain purchase. Denied that outlet he scrabbles to grab her hands instead, fingers digging into the back of each palm, cock beginning to swell inside her. 

She's so focused on Murphy's impending orgasm that her own is an afterthought until Bellamy seals his lips around her clit and nudges her towards the cliff and then over it, stealing her breath and making her clench around Murphy, drawing a strangled yelp from his throat. Bellamy keeps going, softer now but just as implacable, making another climax swell and then crash over her head before the first has ended.

The effort of trying to hold herself up is barely enough to stand with one arm, and Abby squirms restlessly, fingers flexing against Murphy in the instinctive urge to grab his hair and pull his mouth away from too-sensitive flesh. "Bellamy, I can't—it's good, so good, but I need a second." 

He whines softly in the back of his throat in reluctance but obeys, standing and wiping at his face with the back of one hand. Abby tracks the motion and swallows hard, arousal slowly kindling again.

Murphy's hands go slack and fall away as he slowly begins to soften, easing the insistent pressure of being full again for the first time in almost two years. The room is quiet other than their ragged breathing, Murphy's dependable sarcasm falling away. 

Bellamy's expression is unreadable when he offers her a hand to help climb down, but the tic in his jaw says enough. Shifting under his scrutiny, Abby is hyper-conscious of the slow trickle of white beginning to slide down one thigh. She looks down and Bellamy follows her gaze, eyes going wide and hot.

He's on his knees again before her, backing her into the counter before she can process much more than the desperation that makes his hands tremble when he brings them up to bracket her hips.

"Can I..." 

Breathless, Abby nods and then moans, low and long, when he follows the evidence of Murphy's orgasm to the source with his tongue, wet against her inner thigh as he painstakingly cleans every trace away. She fists her hands in his hair and tries to force him upward, but he stays firm, forcing her to loosen her grip or hurt him. It's a matter of seconds, but it feels like years waiting for him to finish his self-appointed mission. She sighs in relief when his breath puffs over her center, cool against heated skin. He mutters what sounds like 'beautiful' into her cunt, nosing her folds apart and stabbing his tongue inside in a crude imitation of lovemaking, alternating lapping and sealing his mouth over her entrance and sucking until he's satisfied she's empty again.

She expects him to pull away, but he only moves his attention to trying to wring another orgasm from her already exhausted body. He seems like he'd be happy enough to spend the whole time on his knees, if she let him. She can already see it: Bellamy, pupils blown and cock straining between his thighs, and hours to teach him what she likes. Unbidden, Marcus creeps into the picture, holding Bellamy close to his chest and whispering encouragement, helping teach him patience.

It's that image as much as anything that makes her come, her grip on Bellamy's hair tightening until it has to hurt but he only moans, the vibrations setting off more sparks behind her eyes and triggering another, smaller orgasm on the heels of the first. "Stop, stop. Too sensitive."

"Please, can I... I have to—" He kneels back on the floor, holding his hands out in supplication and Abby takes them, sinking down to straddle his thighs and reaching between them so she can hold his cock steady while she sinks down in one slow roll of her hips. Making a sound like a dying man, he bends double to rest his head on her breast, breathing coming in thunderous gasps. "Just gimme a minute. I'll—"

He wants to make it good for her—about her, and Abby allows herself passing anger at a woman who taught her son that the truest expression of his love was martyrdom. "Sweetheart." His head jerks up at the endearment, something too raw to be called happiness in his eyes. "It's all right. Take what you need."

If Murphy had been about exercising control again, this is about a chance to bring someone _else_ comfort. The pain she caused for ALIE, the man she killed; they've settled like a stain under her skin, and bit by bit it's starting to wash away.

Bellamy shudders, slanting his mouth over her own and wrapping his arms around her just a shade too tight and bearing her back down to the floor, cradling the back of her head in one hand to shield her from impact. His thrusts are wild, all instinct and no coordination, and Abby strokes his sides soothingly; it only seems to spur him on, and he drops his head to her neck, sucking tiny, stinging kisses into her skin as his hips move faster. 

"Touch yourself." He bites the words out through gritted teeth, rough as the jagged stones lining the river near the shale cliffs on the road home from Polis. "I can't get a hand between us and keep my balance, and I don't think I can wait." 

"You don't need to wait."

"Abby, please." With visible effort he stills his thrusts, pushing up on his forearms so her nipples brush against his chest with each inhale. Fine tremors wracking each muscle, but he ignores her attempts to tug him back down. "I want you to feel good."

" _You_ feel good."

"I'd be offended you forgot me... but I also don't care." Murphy's bare knees are just visible when she rolls her head to the side. "Here, I got it." Resting a hand of Bellamy's shoulder for balance, he reaches between them with unerring accuracy and slides two fingers over her clit firmly, doing it again when she sucks in a loud breath. "I got it, Bellamy."

With one look they have an unspoken conversation Abby can't begin to decipher, then Bellamy nods and all at once the floodgates open. A bead of sweat drips down the side of his neck as his hips snap forward for punishing force, again and again and again, driving the breath out of her lungs with each thrust. Murphy's relying more on the moment of Bellamy's body to help him where the awkward angle hinders and it sets off fireworks behind her eyelids, yellow and white beads of light slowly swallowing the dark.

Orgasm is a body blow, slamming into her and rolling her like a wave. One moment she's looking up at Bellamy's knit brow and the next there's nothing in her veins but liquid fire, scorching her from the inside out. She clenches around Bellamy, inner muscles fluttering and he tumbles over the edge with her, all his weight coming to rest on her as his arms give out and trap Murphy's arm between them.

He gives them almost a full minute before tugging it away, making Abby jump when his fingers glance over her clit. When Bellamy glares at him, Murphy just shrugs and wiggles his wet fingers in a sarcastic wave. "They were falling asleep." After a shrug he licks them all clean, Bellamy's eyes following each stroke of his tongue with careful focus. "I hope you're not expecting me to follow his example, because I'm pretty tapped out."

"If he won't, I will." Bellamy smiles down at her, entirely sincere.

Abby clenches around him at the thought, and even that almost sends overstimulation into pain. "I'm not sure I could stand it. I think five's enough, Bellamy."

There's a stubborn set to his jaw that says he wants to argue, but he gives in easily, nodding in response, dropping his head back down to her chest. "As long as I don't have to move yet."

"Tired already?" 

Bellamy turns his head to narrow his eyes at Murphy, defiantly still otherwise. "I didn't see you moving after. Anyway, aren't you tapped out?"

" _Boys_." Stretching and taking in the ache in her thighs, she pushes the hair hanging in Bellamy's eyes away. He looks peaceful, lacking the coiled readiness of a man always ready for attack. It can only last so long, and awareness eats away at that peace until he's relaxed but still burdened.

A knock at the door makes her breath catch, and Bellamy stills halfway through pushing his weight up on his arms to reluctantly separate their bodies, hovering over her protectively. "Shhh." They freeze in place as one, barely breathing. 

Another knock. "Abby? Abby, are you all right?"

Abby's heart turns over and falls to her feet, bitterness and regret leaving a sour taste. "Just a moment, Marcus." She can't help a small sigh of loss when Bellamy pulls out, easing his hand out from under her head and helping her sit up before rising himself.

Dressing is a silent, hasty affair, and at the end of it they're all at least presentable, even if Marcus would need to be entirely blind to miss that they all stink of sex and a red rash of stubble burn is beginning to form on her neck, continuing until it disappears into her shirt.

Murphy stays half-tucked away in the corner, but Bellamy follows her to the door when she opens it; a steady presence at her side even if he can't bring himself to meet Marcus' eyes.

"...Bellamy." He knows. It's in the way his pupils widen then contract, hand falling to a useless fist at his side. Emotions cross his face rapidfire—surprise, realization, jealousy, anger, hurt—before he's iced over and still, barely breathing.

"Did you need something?" 

He blinks, slowly, and some of the stiffness recedes. "No. No, I just thought... Well. That we could..." Bellamy shifts uncomfortably and it draws Marcus' attention back, taking in the wrinkled shirt and swollen mouth. A flash of something crosses his face, an awareness that niggles at her and demands to be categorized and explained. "Bellamy, I think it's time you headed to quarters." Whatever Marcus is feeling now, the flash is gone and he nods mildly towards the corridor, keeps whatever it is from his voice. "Don't you?" 

Despite the phrasing it's an order, not a question, and Bellamy vibrates with with the need to follow it but keeps his feet planted beside her. If he thinks he's leaving her to Marcus' anger, he'll refuse and face down hell to do it; and regardless of that need to fulfill what he imagines to be his responsibilities to her, after everything how little he wants to disobey Marcus' orders is written plainly on his face. "Sir..." 

Bellamy swallows audibly, and Abby puts a hand on his elbow. "It's all right, Bellamy." _I'm all right_. He studies her face intently before nodding.

"All right." His smile doesn't reach his eyes, but the attempt to show one last reassurance before retreat clutches at her heart and clears away some of the unavoidable guilt. "Abby." Smile wiped clean, he nods respectfully to Marcus. "Sir."

Marcus turns to watch him go with that same strange look. Waiting until Bellamy's cleared the corner before remembering why he came, he shakes himself a little and turns a gimlet eye on the next obstacle. "Murphy, maybe it's time for you to do the same."

"I'm good here, thanks." Marcus' glares intensifies and Murphy shrugs, sprawling back against the exam table with perfected dismissiveness. "No patch on my jacket. I work for her. So unless Abby says it's time to close up..."

They both look to her and Abby shrugs, too tired and unable to think of a single way to explain what she'd need to if they were alone. Murphy's presence is as good a shield as any.

" _Fine_." Gritting the word out, Marcus angles his body so Murphy has his back. He studies her, eyes as intent as Bellamy's had been, a little sad but not accusatory. For a moment it seems like he might reach out, fingertips twitching at his side—then nothing, just the quick nod of a man reaching some incredibly important conclusion. "I thought we might talk. About..." He doesn't turn to look at Murphy, but it's obvious he's reminding himself of their audience. "Well. I thought we might talk again, about... what we discussed last month."

They're the words she's been longing to hear since the night he'd confessed he wasn't sure if he could bear tenderness yet, the haunted cast to his facing saying what he couldn't: that yet might mean ever. 

"Tomorrow, Marcus." They're _still_ the words she longs to hear, but it's late and she's tired and needs to shower and let some of what's just happen become real. It's all dimmed now, faintly unreal as if she's only dreamt it all out of loneliness. The way he sinks at the deferral reminds her too much of the day they'd come back to themselves and he'd found his arm pressed down on Bellamy's throat. "Marcus." Taking hold of his wrist, Abby gently touches the still-forming whorl of scar tissue on his wrist, a concrete reminder that they'd both done unconscionable things. Touching him again warms some cold, fearful corner of her heart she hadn't known was there, frozen and waiting for his return. " _Tomorrow_. I promise."

The fear doesn't disappear, but it fades enough to bring a little color back to his cheeks. He brings his other hand up, enveloping hers entirely and squeezing gently to emphasize the vow and return it. "Tomorrow."

Murphy does her the favor of saving his opinion until after Marcus has released her hand and left the same way Bellamy did. 

"So. You know what you're doing with that?"

"Murphy... that's really not your business, no matter what we just did."

"Yeah, I know." He's as serious as she's ever seen him without an army of ALIE's faithful bearing down upon them. "But still, do you?"

"No." Telling the unvarnished truth has been part of convincing Murphy she's on his side in a world where everyone is assumed enemy until proved a friend. Even if that weren't the case, saying yes would be a lie would be too painfully obvious to utter. "But I'm also not looking for advice."

"Fair enough." He scratches the back of his neck. "Look, I have to say it. This isn't... Emori's not going to care or anything."

"Because she would have done the same?"

He lifts one shoulder. "I mean, I'm not going to blame her. It's just... I kind of like working here," he blurts out, then looks shocked at his own words. Face twisted in an attempt at affected nonchalance, and he hastily tacks on, "I mean, it sucks less than the other options."

"Why would you..." His meaning clicks into place a step behind hearing it, and Abby shakes her head, answering the real question. "Of course I'm not going to dismiss you. Unless you make the mistake of telling Jackson, because I'm not sure how he'd take it."

Murphy snorts, relief sloughing away some of the too-old look in his eyes and reminding her he's only barely finished moving from being the irresponsible child they'd sent down to the beginnings of the man he'll become. "Got it, don't tell your shadow I defiled his holiest of holies."

" _Murphy_."

"What? I meant medical." 

At least one thing hadn't suddenly shifted on its axis tonight. "Good _night_ , Murphy."

He offers a sloppy salute and an oddly genuine smile. "Night, Abby."

She lingers in medical, trying her best to card through each tangled feeling and weave them into something larger, something that encompasses whatever it is that's shifted inside, giving up only when thinking of one man without the other proves itself impossible. Her walk home is quiet, the night guard still too wary to bother with greetings after everything they'd been through, and despite her buried hope, no one waits at the door.

Sleep brings more of the same. She dreams of two dark heads bent over her breast, and wakes up wanting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not quite the place to get political, but to anyone else feeling unmoored or unwanted: you have a place, and you have people. We're still here, guys. _Ste yuj_.

**Author's Note:**

> Backstory for how in the hell this came about: the other night on twitter I mused idly about writing Abby/Murphy. Then... this happened. There will be a Kellabby sequel later, because certain parties who know who they are shamelessly enabled me.


End file.
